The Lazarus Crusade
by Sundered Heart
Summary: When a massive Chaos warhost pours into the vulnerable worlds of the Lazarus Sector, it falls to the inexperienced soldiers of the Imperial Guard to hold the line. Can these novice regiments prevail against the traitor hordes? Or will they fail and let darkness sweep across the entire sector? Rated T for violence.
1. Prologue

**Ashkelon**

**Designation: Desert World**

**Lazarus Sector**

**M40. 874**

* * *

><p>Sergeant Hari Akar had just finished his routine patrol when it started raining.<p>

It started off as a series of pinging noises that rattled the slate roof tiles above, startling a flock of vermin-birds roosting along the edge. Sergeant Akar, who had been exchanging pleasantries with a local tea merchant he and his men often frequented at the end of their shift, cringed and looked up. The staccato beats reminded him of the tracer shots fired during last week's field exercise. Unconscious reflexes drilled into him by years of rote training brought his autogun to his shoulders, ready to draw bead on an invisible enemy. The tea merchant, a rotund balding man sweating under his turban, stared in surprise.

What followed defied all established belief and logic. The sky, clear and blue as it always has been for millennia, suddenly opened up in a deluge of heavy rain. Not a mere drizzle, but fat raindrops that splattered water and dust upon hitting the dry ground—much like a summer monsoon that plagued the atmospheres of wetter worlds. Within minutes, the sudden shower had all but soaked the terracotta buildings that lined the city of Helath into muddy, sticky piles. All around him, Imperial citizens ran amok, screaming and shouting, while street vendors tried in vain to shield their earthenware pots of spice powders and dried herbs against the elements. Carts were overturned as mules panicked and bucked off their drivers before lunging blindly into the crowded road.

The tea merchant cried out in terror. "The world is ending!" he wailed. "Emperor preserve us! The sky is falling into pieces!"

"Don't be ridiculous, sir!" Sergeant Akar snapped, even as his mind tried to come to grips with this incredible sight. "The world isn't ending. It's just….raining."

In fact, without the holo-drama picts and nature magazines he read from time to time, Sergeant Akar too would have thought the world was ending. Water was a rare commodity on Ashkelon, and to see an ocean's worth of water pouring down from the heavens would seem incredible to anyone born on this desert world. Still, Akar knew enough about the scientific principles of meteorology to know that it was perfectly natural.

Or it would've been, had it occurred somewhere else off-world. As it stood, it could never rain on Ashkelon. Not a single drop of water had touched the dry and sandy surface of this planet ever since the first Imperial colonists set foot centuries ago, forcing them to rely on meager underground reservoirs and regular imports from the inner worlds.

In other words, what he was seeing should not have been possible.

The grizzled Ashkelon PDF veteran cautiously stepped out into the streets and looked up to the sky. The raindrops soaked his uniform in seconds, splattering against his skin so hard that it began to sting. He could taste the waters running past his lips—wet and yet somehow stale at the same time. The expanses above remained the color of clearest blue, as if nothing of significance was ever happening. _The skies were blue, and it was still raining. There weren't any clouds in the sky, and it was still raining._ Akar felt his mouth fall open and his knees grow weak. The initial surprise was quickly turning into a gut-churning dread.

Several forms barged their way past the tea merchant from inside the shop. Akar turned to see the rest of his squad, a six-man outfit from the 24th Company of the Ashkelon PDF. They were brown and dry-skinned young men, all recruited from the region and equipped with ochre uniforms, autoguns, and bowl helmets worn over white keffiyehs. Having heard the commotion in the streets, the soldiers had emerged from their afternoon tea break, unslinging their weapons from their shoulders. They all gaped in disbelief and fear at the sight before them.

"Holy Emperor…" Corporal Sadat, a mustachioed man who acted as his second, muttered. "This can't be happening…!" His oath was quickly followed by a spooked chatter from the rest of the squad, several of whom instinctively made the sign of the Aquila. A part of Sergeant Akar wanted to admonish his men for such open displays of fear. But try as he might, even he couldn't deny there was something terribly wrong with what was going on. By this time, the water had risen so much so that he was now standing ankle deep in the torrent of a brown river sweeping down the abandoned streets. Debris of discarded articles and merchandises swept by around him, taken by the strong tides that lapped at his legs.

A salty and an unpleasantly sticky taste suddenly registered on his tongue, and Akar instinctively spat out. He cried out in surprise and disgust when he saw that it had been a gobbet of watery blood. For a brief moment, Akar thought it had come from his own body until he heard a scream behind him.

"Blood!" It was Ismael, the youngest member of the squad. The youth shrieked in terror as he pointed towards the sky. "It's raining blood!"

A chorus of terrified screams echoing from across the city supported the claim. Indeed, the rain had taken on a distinct reddish color, and the walls and buildings were suddenly being painted crimson by the arterial liquid pouring from above. The water rushing around him suddenly felt sticky and smelled of metallic stink. Akar recoiled, and practically leapt back into the store. As he did so, he caught sight of something else that made his blood run cold.

There were other things falling from the sky now, large distinct shapes with wings and engine thrusters that were making controlled descent to the surface. Some screeched with afterburners in a rush to reach the city. Others, bigger and more heavily armored, came in ponderously as if sinking through a sea of blood. First in couples, then in dozens, more shapes came hurtling down from the sky and into Helath proper. In a moment of terrible clarity, a realization lanced through Sergeant Akar's bewildered mind. _Dropships. Landers. And apparently not of any known imperial design_.

"By the Emperor, it's an invasion!" he exclaimed. It did not occur to him then, as to why would anyone choose to attack Ashkelon, a relatively unremarkable world on the fringe of the sector. What mattered to him was the knowledge that an enemy was here to bring fight to them. In a way, it provided a momentary distraction from the hellish deluge. He could not fight against blood, water, or the sky, but living breathing beings he could deal with. Akar suddenly knew what he needed to do.

"Squad, form on me!" the sergeant shouted. "The enemy has come to Ashkelon! It is time we did our duty and drive out those who threaten our homes!"

Six frightened faces gaped at him as if his words had lost all meaning. Even Corporal Sadat, who had served almost as long as he had, shared a hesitant look.

"Come on, you lot!" Akar barked. "Must I remind you that you are soldiers of the Imperium? Must I remind you of your duties?!"

He raised his autogun along with his voice, which admittedly proved more effective at rallying his men. Reluctantly, the squad of soldiers stepped forth, their weapons held at the ready.

"Move out! And remember, this…rain is just a plain trickery, devised to frighten and confuse us! Don't fall for such childish tricks!" Akar roared. Grimacing, the seven soldiers rushed out into the bloody rain, leaving the behind the tea merchant who had curled up into a fetal position and began weeping. The men felt their hair and uniforms stick to their skin almost instantaneously, soaked head to toe with the gory vitae. Every single one knew it was going to take more than a single shower to cleanse themselves, if they could ever _be _clean again. Nevertheless, their hands automatically covered the breeches of their autoguns protectively to prevent the blood from befouling the firing mechanisms.

It wasn't difficult to locate the nearest of the dropships. A sizable aircraft, its rusty red hulls dripping gore, had practically crashed onto the tenement squares three blocks away in its apparent eagerness to land, sending dust and splashes of blood into the air. Gritting their teeth and retching gore from their gullets, Sergeant Akar and his men double-timed to its location, splashing and sputtering each step. Sporadic gunfire had begun to breakout from around the city, coupled with cries of horror and agony, and Akar strangely felt vindicated for his decision to sally forth. By this time, the rest of the garrison PDF forces on Ashkelon would have responded, infantrymen pouring from the barracks into the city proper on their fat-wheeled trucks. Whoever these unholy invaders were, they were to find that Ashkelon was not going to yield so easily.

The first blow to his confidence occurred as soon as the squad rushed into the tenement square and saw their enemy properly for the first time.

The dropship had come down hard, shearing off its port wing and almost burying itself into the ground. Nevertheless, enough of it had remained intact for its cargo to emerge unscathed. The bloody and oxidized metal hull of the ship was emblazoned with grotesque patterns and runes that made Akar want to hurl and claw at his eyes. What caused more concern were the figures emerging from the downed ship, throwing open its side hatches and leaping outside like rats abandoning a sinking ship.

The enemy were lithe but muscled men who were clad in a mixture of checkered leather bodygloves and scale-mail armor. Their visages were completely covered by full-frontal jester masks stylized into a large open smile with opaque eye lenses which, combined with the blood-rain, gave the impression of weeping blood. A long plume of feathers, fleshy tentacles, and what appeared to be flaps of living skin draped drooped from the back of their heads. Their gloved hands held gruesome weapons of trade—lasguns, autoguns, trench-hammers, and wicked sickles. One of them, his mask more ornately decorated with sweeping bullhorns, looked up and caught sight of Sergeant Akar. A long tongue, split and forked like a serpent's, flicked out through the opening of the smile.

Sergeant Akar screamed and opened fire. .30 caliber solid slugs, fired from the bucking barrels of the indigenous but reliable R12 Auto-Rifle, shredded the horrible face into the meaty mulch and threw the enemy onto its back. The rest of the squad, momentarily struck numb by the terrible sight of their enemy, came to their senses and simultaneously opened fire. Much of the shots went wide, having been fired hastily in panic. Nevertheless, enough bullets founds their mark and more freaks jerked and collapsed, adding to the already considerable blood flow.

The enemy did not break or flee. Wailing shrieks bursting from their throats, the freaks scattered across the square, their capering legs swiftly bringing them either to cover or straight towards the soldiers. Crimson lasbolts and solid rounds began ripping into the squad. Trooper Omid shook like a rustling tree as the barrage reduced him into an unrecognizable charred lump. A solid round took Trooper Mehoud's leg clean at the knee. The young trooper collapsed, and stared in dumb disbelief at the bloody stump of his missing limb until another shot blew out the back of his head. The remaining soldiers threw themselves flat against the wall and returned fire as much as they could. Sergeant Akar, having spent many hour on the firing ranges, killed more than a half a dozen men with his accurate shots. But there were too many. Dozens more enemy troops were pouring out from the dropship, adding more to the fire directed their way. How many men could one ship contain?

Trooper Kouri's autogun clicked as it ran dry of ammo. Before the soldier could change his clip, one of the freaks who had rushed close to the squad's position lunged forth. His weighted pick punched straight through Kouri's forehead in a storm of shattered bone and gray matter. In a few seconds it took the enemy to yank out his weapon from Kouri's shuddering corpse, Akar whirled around and brought the lacquered wooden butt of his gun smashing onto the masked head like a sledgehammer. The crippling blow floored the freak but the sergeant bashed again and again until he was sure the enemy was dead. It was then that Akar saw how the pockmarked metal of the mask ran smoothly into the flesh of the dead freak without a seam in between. By some unknown means, the enemy troops had permanently welded their masks onto their faces so that they became a part of their body.

"There's too many of them!" Corporal Sadat shouted above the din beside him, his controlled bursts neatly mowing down the freaks who had tried to rush their position. Soaked head to toe in blood-rain, the corporal looked like a homicide victim out of a horror-pict. "We need to retreat! Call in support—"

As much as he hated to admit it, Akar knew the corporal was right. With the squad down to just four men, their already precarious position was quickly becoming untenable. It would require no less than a full company of troops or what light armor they could rally to stem the tide. And with more dropships coming into the city, the odds became laughably absurd.

"Alright then," Akar growled as he slammed in another clip into his rifle. "Let's displace. Men, fall back! Fall back—"

Akar never finished his command. The opposing tenement doorway suddenly exploded out in a cloud of wet dust and debris, as something enormous tore its way into the square. Akar had just caught glimpse of limbs clad in crimson armor plates when the massive firearm in its hands boomed twice. Trooper Ensari and Corporal Sadat were instantly obliterated, their torsos simply exploding into meaty sprays by the mas-reactive bolts detonating in their fragile flesh. Young Ismael, his face suddenly covered by the vitae of his comrades, screamed like a demented woman and fled, hastily discarding his autogun. The youth had barely made it out of the tenement block before a fresh wave of freaks, pouring out from the nearby alleyway in a pincer movement, pounced on him. Ismael was still screaming when the enemy chopped him into wet pieces with their sickles and cleavers.

Sergeant Akar stared numbly as Sadat's killer slowly strode up to him. He was a giant, taller than the tallest men and impossibly broader than any living thing he had seen. Thick crimson plate covered his gigantic frame, every inch of its surface covered in golden letters he could not decipher. A pair of massive pauldrons sat on his shoulders, sporting a dizzying imagery of a daemonic visage on top of an eight-pointed star. In between the shoulders sat a monstrous antlered helmet of baroque design, its burning yellow lenses seemingly boring into his soul.

For some strange reason, Akar felt calm. All the fear and panic that had gripped him evaporated, leaving him clear-headed and collected. With clarity came purpose, and with purpose came the knowledge of what he now had to do. Only in death did duty end. He could aspire to nothing less.

There was no way his bullets would penetrate that solid wall of armor. So Akar instead drew out his bayonet and attached it to his autorifle with his fumbling hand. The giant looked on in silence, as if amused by the antic of the man before him.

"For the Emperor!"

Sergeant Hari Akar of the Ashkelon PDF 24th Company, in the last twenty seconds of his life, charged headlong into his foe, his bayoneted gun held at the hip. He thrust his weapon towards the joint at the giant's neck where disparate plates met, hoping to exploit what seemed like a vulnerable point.

The giant moved once, and Akar gasped in shock. His rifle, held just a few inches away from the giant's neck, slowly slid out of his limp fingers and tumbled to the ground. Akar's gaze dropped to his chest, where the giant's massive gauntleted hand had punched straight into his flesh. The pain was so overwhelming that he couldn't speak at all.

"Your Corpse-Idol has no power here, worm," the giant rumbled, his metallically tinged voice mocking and predatory. He tore his hand back out with a casual flicker of his wrist, and with it, Akar's heart.

Sergeant Akar toppled back, his life escaping his sorry corpse almost instantly. The last thing he saw before his body sank beneath the tide of blood was the clear cerulean sky of Ashkelon slowly turning black, as dropships and landers in their hundreds poured from the heavens.

* * *

><p>Later Imperial records show that Ashkelon fell within just a few hours, its PDF swiftly crumbling under the overwhelming assault. Much of the atrocities that followed are never discussed at length, lest the horrifying details break the minds of those who read them. What is clear, however, is that the fall of Ashkelon was an opening salvo to a much greater conflict. It would not be the last loss suffered by the Imperium, nor the biggest.<p>

Nevertheless, all chroniclers agree that the subsequent events that followed had ultimately changed the history of the Lazarus sector and its importance in the Imperium as a whole….

* * *

><p><strong>R &amp; R!<strong>


	2. Chapter 1

**Ulysses Prime**

**Designation: Civilized World **

**Lazarus Sector Capital**

**M40. 874**

_Three Weeks Later…_

* * *

><p>The hole in the wall was big enough to fit a fully grown man through. Jagged and rough—perhaps violently punched inwards by an errant tank shell—the opening left bare unpainted layers of thick, solid rockcrete. Typical of most prefabricated buildings in Imperial cities, the simple but sturdy design was proof against the roughest elements the universe could throw at it. Only the strongest earthquakes or, as in this case, concentrated munitions barrage could undo the craft that had gone into its construction.<p>

It also made a perfect improvised barricade during combat, as Karel Heinemann found out.

Sucking in his breath, Heinemann slowly rose from his crouch and stole a peek over the lip of the hole. The ruined bedroom of a two-story habitat unit he had been taking shelter in for the last twenty minutes provided solid protection, but was certainly not a prime spot for observation. Ignoring a cramp building in his thighs, he took in the devastated cityscape lying before him with practiced and analytical eye.

Solidly built and rapidly approaching forty, Heinemann was not an easy man to like. His colleagues often described him as quiet, brooding, and at time excessively stiff in his bearing. He expected much from others, and did not rest until they acted accordingly. Those few who did not mind his mannerisms, however, saw the determination and intelligence behind the steely grey eyes of his. His words, while not always heeded, were nevertheless listened to by his superiors. Particularly after _that incident_, Heinemann had earned himself a reputation as a dependable man who could be destined for greater things.

Those considerations did not matter at the moment. What _did_ matter was a sight of a black helmet slightly peeking from behind the shattered window of a dress shop across the street. It would shudder and bob from time to time, as if its wearer was clumsily trying to move around undetected behind his hiding spot. Against the backdrop of the motionless, silent city, the small motion stuck out like a sore thumb. A person might interpret it in many different ways, but for Heinemann, the implication was clear as day.

_Someone's getting sloppy, _Heinemann thought wryly.

Without breaking his gaze, Heinemann carefully brought the lasrifle he had been cradling up to his sight. Resting the barrel through the hole, he first exhaled all air from his lungs to steady his aim. Bringing an eye behind the gun sight, he adjusted his rifle so that it was aiming a little below the brow of the bobbing helmet. He waited an extra second, to ensure his aim was holding steady.

A quick squeeze of his fingers, and a thin bolt of laser slammed home.

Instead of a cry of pain or a dull thump of a body collapsing, however, Heinemann was instead greeted with a hollow clatter. He watched in surprise as the helmet, all but empty, simply flew off the length of a stick—which had been shaken and pushed to simulate real movement. His opponent had not been sloppy at all.

The empty street suddenly burst into a frenzy of activity. The silence was shattered as uniformed bodies stormed into open in a flurry of booted heels striking pavement. Terse, urgent commands rang into the air, coordinating a quick and effective charge towards the Heinemann's position. In concert with the push, a barrage of lasbolts began peppering through the hole, sending Heinemann into a hurried dive. It was a textbook tactic designed with the taking of an urban fortification in mind.

_They had gotten smarter. _Heinemann marveled. _They are actually learning from past mistakes. _For all his predicament, he somehow found himself with a wide grin stretching across his square jaws.

A sudden burst of gruff voices and rapid footsteps told him that the enemy had gained entry into the habitat. Scrambling to his feet, Heinemann quickly dashed out of the room with his lasrifle held at the hip.

He saw his first enemy as he rounded the doorway into the main corridor, a large uniformed figure blindly rushing up the stairs. Before he could respond, Heinemann let loose an accurate burst of lasfire, sending the enemy toppling back with a yelp. But even as the first man fell, dozens more followed in his wake, this time opening up a fierce barrage as soon as they saw Heinemann. Ducking back into the room, Heinemann clicked his lasrifle in full auto, poked the barrel out into the hall way, and laid down a barrage of counter-fire. As numerous as the enemy was, they had unwittingly packed themselves into a narrow staircase, leaving very few covers and even fewer options to maneuver. As long as he kept shooting, he could keep the enemy suppressed and kept at bay.

As to mock his plan, the lasrifle clicked dry, its power having been depleted. With practiced ease, Heinemann drew back his weapon and ejected the spent clip. He was about to slam a fresh pack into the receiver, when a cold metal of a barrel was suddenly pressed against the back of his neck.

"Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air!" A gruff voice barked.

Sucking in his breath, Heinemann did as he was told. With his hands held in surrender, he stood up and turned to face his captor. The hallway outside filled with rushing footsteps, and he found himself surrounded in no time with more of his enemies and their aimed weapons.

The men wore uniforms of dark green and black camouflage pattern, with composite flak body armor that protected their upper torsos and bandoliers that held extra clips and field tools. Their sleek black helmets had built-in tinted visors that shielded their eyes while still allowing unobstructed sight.

The two shoulder pads—number "3" in white paint emblazoned on the left and a regimental insignia of a silver shield depicting stylized golden sun on the right—finished the livery worn by the Imperial Guardsmen of the 3rd Ulyssene Tactical Infantry Regiment's Theta Company.

Heinemann stared at his captor, a guardsman with a chevron of a corporal on his helmet.

"Let me guess," he said. "You and a select men scaled up the wall while the rest of the platoon kept me occupied, correct?"

The corporal simply nodded.

"And I am the last one left on the field?" Heinemann pressed. The soldier nodded again.

Heinemann sighed…and grinned broadly as he let his arms fall back to his sides.

"That was a job well done," He exclaimed. "Fifteen minutes and forty-five seconds. That is almost ten whole minutes off the last record!"

The corporal grinned back as his comrades broke into a hearty cheer. The celebration was soon taken up by the rest of the company remaining outside the habitat. Men slapped each other on the back, while others took quick breaks to rehydrate themselves from their canteens.

"Well, I hope you gentlemen still have energy to spare, because we need to shave off those last five minutes off the record! I want this whole town secured under ten minutes!" Heinemann called out. "Everyone back to their positions! Opposition team, gather back and return to your original holdouts. This time, let's focus on securing the strongpoints with more direct approach! Squad leaders, position your men accordingly!"

The guardsmen quickly began filing out of the building, heading over to the edge of the simulated battleground where they had initiated their urban assault training. Though already tired from having repeated the drill over half a dozen times this day, few grumbled. Despite the demanding training, even the dullest among them could see that they were at last producing results. High spirits sustained their weary bodies.

As the soldiers filed out, Heinemann stopped the guardsman he had shot. The man was absentmindedly rubbing his stomach, where he had been hit by a lasbolt set on the lowest possible voltage—which was harmless aside from producing a temporarily stinging sensation. Close up, Heinemann recognized him as Trooper Jensen, one of the recent recruits into the regiment.

"Feeling alright, Jensen?" Heinemann said. The guardsman, a gawky young man in his early twenties, grinned sheepishly.

"Fit and ready to rumble, sir. I'll step up my game this time around."

"Very good. Next time, try to keep a lower profile while storming buildings. Can you do that for me?"

Jensen smiled and snapped up a smart salute.

"You can count on me, colonel!"

"Carry on, trooper," Heinemann said as he returned the salute. "Carry on."

* * *

><p>The sun was dipping towards the horizon when the Theta Company finally quit the Palabria training field, one of the many prefabricated facilities on the planet that simulated a ravaged urban environment. Platoon after platoon of exhausted guardsmen dragged their feet to the heavy trucks waiting on the open lot that would bring them back to their barracks. Sergeants made sure their men inspected their weapons for dirt and grits, while the medics slapped dermal patches on those who had accrued reddish welts from having been shot at one too many time. The Theta Company had done a fine job, but in the end had failed to meet their commander's high standards. The soldiers would return tomorrow and repeat the drills until they could bring their time below ten minutes.<p>

Wiping his sweaty short-cropped dark hair with a rag, Colonel Karel Heinemann oversaw the embarkation of his men from off to the side. Though his body too ached from the day's exertion, he knew better than to show it. With the vast majority of the regiment composed of fresh recruits out of basic training, the 3rd Ulyssene was at a critical juncture where its officers and common troopers needed to bond. Heinemann always made sure his captains and sergeants led from the front and shared the burdens along with their charges, and backed this up with his own example. So far, it seemed to be working. The soldiers, despite fearing the rigors of their training, pushed at their limits hard in his presence.

Still, Heinemann doubted whether it would be enough.

A brief, stabbing pain lanced through his chest, and Heinemann's jaws and throat tightened in an effort to suppress it. He absentmindedly ran his hand across the front of his fatigues, underneath which he knew lay a long scar—a combination of an old wound and surgical incisions. The medicae corps had labored to save his original right lung, but the damage had been so severe that they had to turn to the priests of the Mechanicum in the end. So far, the bionic lung replacement the cogheads had shoved inside his body was doing an adequate job of keeping him alive. But it was as if his body instinctively knew that this artificial composition of plastek and vat-grown flesh did not belong in it. From time to time, it would signal its displeasure as to remind Heinemann of the fact. He just hoped it would not fail him altogether in the most inopportune moments.

"Those are fine men you are leading, colonel."

Heinemann turned, and was startled to find a stranger standing idly next to him. He had not heard anyone approach; it was as if the man had appeared out of thin air. Clad in nondescript fatigues issued for outdoor training, the newcomer was a tall man seemingly in his thirties, with a lithe body that was lined with hard muscles. His face was sharp and angular, cutting a contrast to Heinemann's more solid build. His light brown hair was a wild mess that complemented his sun-kissed skin, and a pair of the most brilliantly green eyes Heinemann had ever seen. Tearing his gaze from the line of guardsmen climbing into their trucks, the man flashed the colonel a wide roguish smile.

"Perhaps a little rough around the edges, but the training regimen you're putting them through is doing wonders."

"Who are you?" Heinemann barked, his right hand unconsciously reaching for his service pistol holstered at the hip. He could not find any sort of markings of identity on the stranger. "What are you doing here? In case you didn't know, sir, this is a military facility."

The stranger did not seem at all fazed by the colonel's defensive posture. His smile grew wider as he put out his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"Trust me, I don't mean to cause any alarm, colonel. I'm just here to watch the men train, make some….assessments, while getting some fresh air on the side… The crisp air on these parts does wonders for your sinuses, doesn't it, colonel? A good place to recuperate for any wounded veterans."

The man's insouciant manners took Heinemann aback. Whoever he was, the sheer confidence with which he presented himself told him that the man was someone of importance.

"You spoke of assessments," Heinemann said slowly. "Are you with the Lord General's Command Staff? If so, I haven't been informed of any formal inspections today."

"Mine is more of a personal nature, sir," the man replied silkily. "And from what I've been watching for the last few hours, I am liking what I see. Your regiment has strong potential and is well-motivated. Though how they will fare on an actual battlefield remains unknown."

"They will do their duty to the Emperor until the end," Heinemann said. "As will my officers and I."

"Or will you?" the man said, his smile suddenly disappearing. An almost fanatical light entered his eyes as he leaned forward. "What I haven't been able to determine so far, colonel, is a measure of you as a man and a leader. You are obviously competent, but do you have the faith and balls to live up to your words when the time comes? Or will you fall short your sworn duty, much like your predecessors at Viridian Ridge?"

Heinemann's jaw clenched. "How do you know about Viridian Ridge?" He hissed. "The information is classified—"

"How I know of that disaster does not matter, colonel," the man replied coldly. "What matters is what you are prepared to do to salvage your regiment's honor. And so I ask you, are you ready to lead your men to battles, and bring His light to those who threaten the Imperium?"

Heinemann knew he did not have to answer anything the stranger asked. He did, anyway.

"I swore an oath when I joined the Guard, sir," he growled. "Only in death does duty end. I intend to keep that promise to the grave."

The man blinked, and slowly began laughing.

"Very good, colonel. Very good! It looks like you have some mettle in you after all! I will be most interested in seeing the future of this regiment, with you in charge."

"You still haven't told me who you are," Heinemann said.

"Oh, do not worry on that regard. This won't be the last time we'll be seeing each other, I think," the man said, as he stepped away to take his leave. "I'll make sure of it. And you shouldn't keep your men waiting. It looks like they are ready to depart!"

Heinemann looked back at his men to see the last few of the troopers climbing into the trucks.

"Farewell, Colonel Heinemann, and stay alive!" The man called out from behind him.

"Wait, how the hell do you know my—" Heinemann exclaimed as he turned back.

But the stranger had already vanished.

* * *

><p>Kicking up clouds of dust, the convoy of trucks roared past the gates of Camp Arius. Under the aegis of the watchtowers ringing the complex, the transports brought the weary guardsmen back to the barracks that had been their home for the past year. One by one, the soldiers disembarked in an orderly fashion before dragging their sweat and dirt-sodden bodies to the armory to return their kit before heading into the showers. After the drills had ended, the disciplined guardsmen allowed themselves to regress into ordinary men yearning for cold water on their backs and warm food in their stomachs. In the distance, the rest of the soldiers of the 3rd who had remained behind engaged in close combat drills, jogged under the careful watch of their drill sergeants, and carried out maintenance duties. A tall flagpole in the middle of the base proudly flew the regimental flag of shield and sun.<p>

Colonel Heinemann stepped off the Command Salamander that had brought him to the base, and casually dismissed the driver with a nod. The memory of the strange encounter, however brief, nagged at him like a pebble caught in the sole of his boot. Perhaps he would pay a visit to the central command later, to follow up on his suspicions.

"What's gotten into you?"

Heinemann turned to see the approaching form of Major Rickard Edbrooke, the second-in-command of the 3rd and a long-time comrade. Having served together in the Guard since the graduation from the academy, the major's more jocular demeanor served as a foil to Heinemann's more serious temperament. Tall, lean, and his auburn hair prematurely balding, Edbrooke always seemed to be smiling when he wasn't cracking inappropriate jokes to anyone who would appreciate his ribald sense of humor. For all his levity, however, the major had been a staunch supporter and a capable officer ever since Heinemann's promotion to his post.

"What makes you think there's something bothering me?" Heinemann smiled.

"How long have we known each other, Karel?" Edbrooke shook his head mockingly. "You know I can always read your face like a book. If anything, I know way too much about you than I care to. I could tell you the exact shade of the stool you've been shitting out for the past week if you want."

"Please don't," said Heinemann. "And if you must know, yes, something did happen as a matter of fact. I've met someone…strange."

"Want to tell me all about it?"

"I wish. I'm still trying to make sense of what it was even about," Heinemann said as the pair began to drift towards the officer's quarters.

"Well, that's the perk of being a colonel, isn't it?" Edbrooke chuckled. "Always some strange people wanting to get a piece of you, looking for a chance to drag you down. As for me, being your second is a perfect way to dodge all that unpleasantness while getting some tail on the side."

"That's why I keep you around, Rick," Heinemann replied. "The drill went alright though. Theta's a little slow in taking initiative, but nothing that can't be corrected with practice. I'm having them run the drills again tomorrow."

"But they improved their record?" Edbrooke asked.

"Cut their last week's record by five minutes. But it won't be enough until we can get it below ten minutes."

"I know what you mean," Edbrooke muttered as he cracked his neck from side to side. "I've been running bayonet drills with kappa and epsilon companies all day. These babies can't jab at those practice dummies worth a damn. I'm telling you, I've met bordello wenches with more upper body strength. Have I told you about this one time I visited this place downtown—"

"I'm sure you have, Rick," Heinemann said. "I know way too much about you than I care to know, too."

The officers had just reached their quarters when a trooper hailed them. Lightly panting from having ran all the way from the base com-station, Trooper Jonas Cranston skidded to a halt in front of Heinemann and threw a smart salute. The bespectacled young soldier, whose neurotic behavior was only matched by his astonishing attention to detail and extensive memory, had naturally found a niche as a vox-specialist and Heinemann's aide.

"What is it, Jonas?" Heinemann asked.

"Urgent communique from the central command, sir," Cranston reported crisply, as he held out a data-slate he had been carrying under his arm. "It just came through the encrypted military channels few minutes ago. I sought you out immediately."

Taking the proffered slate, Heinemann placed his thumb on the genetic-identifier at the top. Having verified his identity, the slate whirled to life and brought to screen the deciphered message meant for his eyes. As his eyes perused the contents, Heinemann stiffened, what other thoughts he had evaporating instantly.

"I see," Heinemann muttered, his eyes locked onto the data slate. "Thank you, trooper. That will be all."

Cranston threw up another salute before taking his leave.

"One of these days, I'm going to have to check if that lad really has a steel rod stuck up his ass," Edbrooke shook his head woefully before turning towards Heinemann. "So what does it say?"

"It's a communique from the Lord General," Heinemann said as he handed over the slate. "He's summoning all regimental officers for an emergency council session at the gubernatorial palace tonight. We are fully expected to attend at 20.00 hours."

Even Edbrooke fell silent as he read the message, his sense of humor all but forgotten.

"Well," the major said at length. "It's about time."

"Way overdue, I think," Heinemann growled. "I expected the High Legislator to make an official statement much sooner."

"So you think we'll finally get to find out if those rumors are true?" Edbrooke asked.

Heinemann shot him an amused look. "You still think those are rumors?"

"Well, in the absence of any concrete evidence—"

"Don't be so obtuse, Rick," Heinemann sighed. "Look around. The evidences are all over the place. The added military regimens, major recruitment drives, curfews on major cities, intensified scrutiny of the starships from out of system…. Even a common trooper can tell you all this. Do you think that the High Legislator would have enacted those measures if the rumors were just rumors?"

"Then that means…," Edbrooke started.

"That means this sector is in trouble already, my friend. And we are about to hear all the details of just how deep we're in," Heinemann finished. "Let's go get cleaned up. We're heading into the capital."

* * *

><p>Under the dying light of the sun, the staff car that carried Colonel Heinemann and Major Edbrooke sped through the streets. With Trooper Cranston at the wheels, the officers of the 3rd were afforded a moment of peace before arriving at the governor's palace. Having cleaned up and dressed up in his dark green dress uniform, greatcoat, and a peaked cap, Heinemann sat in the back seat looking outside the tinted windows. The silent buildings passed by his view, each one meticulously positioned in accordance with the initial design of the city planners. Streetlight had begun to turn on one by one, illuminating the austere but graceful architecture of the city. The absence of usual crowds that thronged the city at this hour, however, created a bleak and subdued atmosphere. The enforced curfew was having its intended effect.<p>

As the capital of the capital world, Arkanis City was by no means the biggest nor the most beautiful one in the Imperium of Man. But being situated on the chief world of the Lazarus Sector meant that it was the de facto center of culture for many light years around. The population had grown steadily in the past decades, aided by the relative stability and peace of the region—which were in turn owed to the sector's distant location from any known warfronts. Universities, museums, skyscrapers, and power plants jostled for space along with the merchant houses that linked the world with the rest of Lazarus Sector via commerce and trade. Its people enjoyed all the most modern conveniences that were present in more advanced worlds. While Ulysses Prime certainly did not have the size or wealth of Hive Worlds like Malfi or Scintilla, it had the potential to gain them given time. There had even been talks of drawing up a design for the planet's first hive, set to be constructed somewhere in the upper hemisphere.

But more importantly, this world was his home. And he would be damned before he lost it to the cruelties of the uncaring universe.

"So who do you think will be there at the session?" Edbrooke asked. "You know, besides us?"

"Certainly all the important figures from the military, including the commanders and their seconds from all four of the Ulyssene regiments, plus Uswalt from the 1st Armored." Heinemann answered after a brief contemplation. "The officers of the PDF and the flunkies from the Munitorum most certainly. Perhaps the representatives from the Administratum and the Ministorum will attend, if the situation warrants it."

"Do you think the Mechanicum will send someone?"

"I don't see why not. After all, we'll be needing their full support in this matter," Heinemann muttered. "Though we both know how difficult it is to separate the tech-priests from their machines." Craning his neck, he tried to see if he could make out the distant form of Ulysses Prime's only satellite in the sky. As the planet's settlement grew in size over the past centuries, the priests of the Mechanicum had made their lair in the orbiting moon of Kaminus, eventually turning it into a full-scale industrial center that supplied Ulysses Prime and the rest of the sector with weapons and equipment. It was an arrangement that worked out well for both the colonists and the tech-priests, since the Mechanicum could maintain maximum production output without polluting the environment. Heinemann had a few occasions to catch glimpse of the reclusive tech-priests, and had very little desire to do so again unless he really needed to. The bizarre mechanical implants under their red robes made them somehow even less human than the products they were manufacturing.

"I don't think we've had a gathering like this since…," Edbrooke fished for words before shrugging in resignation, "Well, ever really. It's not like we've had a long history of emergencies in this sector, is it?"

"That's exactly what worries me, Rick," Heinemann said. "We have not had any experience with troubles of this magnitude _ever_. If anything, we'll end up having to endure a lot of rookie mistakes when we can't afford one."

"Well then," Edbrooke chuckled. "Let's hope our commanders have managed to come up with some sort of a plan."

* * *

><p>The staff car pulled in front of the gubernatorial palace ten minutes later, prompting the palace valets to scurry forward and open the doors for the officers. Stepping out and smoothing their uniforms. Heinemann and Edbrooke took a moment to appreciate the structure. The palace itself was an enormous building that loomed above most other structures in the city. Built from marble and granite and designed to resemble an ancient castle, the residence of the High Legislator was nevertheless abstained from any ostentatious displays of wealth, but maintained a staid outlook of a government office. As a matter of fact, most of the palace was given over to administrative offices that oversaw the daily workings of Arkanis City, with hundreds of clerks and processors coming about during the day. Only the uppermost levels of the palace actually catered to the High Legislator's living, a philosophy of modest living that had served the planet well.<p>

Climbing the marble stairs past the bowing palace security guards, the officers made their way into the colonnades and into the palace proper. A polite palace majordomo in a velvet suit met them in the lobby, and led them towards the lifts that led them to the conference chamber further inside.

"Has the Lord General arrived yet?" Heinemann inquired while Edbrooke took time to study the portraits of the past High Legislators that hung on the mahogany wall panels. Much of the wall stood empty, no doubt intended to be filled with future governors of Ulysses Prime. _That is, if this sector was to have a future._

"The Lord General has arrived at seven this morning along with his command staff," the majordomo replied. "He has been meeting with the High Legislator all day. He is expecting you at the conference hall."

"I see," Heinemann nodded. If the words were any indication, then it was likely that the Lord General had already been apprised of the situation, perhaps even weeks before.

After a short ride on the lift, the two officers found themselves striding into the vast strategium hall, constructed to hold meeting of military nature along with more than a hundred people. Yellow lights lit the hall in a dim glow, better to show the holographic projections in a bright contrast. The layout resembled the open air theater of ancient Terra, with half-circle of seats arranged in a concentric pattern. A large holo-projector sat on the floor, tended to by officers from the Lord General's command staff. Already, the chamber was filled with men and women in uniforms, both military and civilian. While some had seated themselves, most were mingling freely to exchange pleasantries before the council commenced. A few liveried servants and domestic servitors wandered across the room with plates of sweetmeats and glasses of amasec.

As the protocol dictated, Heinemann and Edbrooke made a beeline towards a figure in a dress uniform standing in the middle of it all, conferring with a man in a white and red uniform of the Planetary Tactician's Cadre. He looked up as the officers made their approach.

"Ah, Colonel Heinemann! Major Edbrooke! Good to have you here, sirs! I trust that the journey hasn't met with any difficulties?"

"Sir!" Heinemann and Edbrooke threw up a sharp salute.

Lord General Orvil Rosenthal, commander-in-chief of the Ulyssene Tactical Infantry Regiments, smiled as he returned their salute before shaking their hands in turn. A heavy set man with a graying hair and a craggy complexion, Rosenthal was, in Heinemann's opinion, a fairly capable leader of men. Though he was certainly neither a genius nor gifted with veteran troops, the Lord General knew his weaknesses and compensated by surrounding himself with capable officers and advisors. He had spent many years studying from as many field tactics manual and battle records, and had trained the Ulyssene troops to incorporate what he had learned. Of all things, Rosenthal was methodical and hard-working, and for that alone, he had earned Heinemann's respect.

"It has been too long, Karel," Rosenthal said warmly. "Was it during the last winter inspection that we met the last time?"

"Summer, sir," Heinemann replied. "It was during the regiment's wilderness survival skills training session, I believe. You had some choice words regarding the expertise of our knot-tying skills."

"So it was," Rosenthal laughed. "Good times, colonel. Good times. I'm sorry our meeting today could not have been under more auspicious circumstances. As you can see, well…."

"Actually I am glad, sir. I believe it was time that we quit playing smokes and mirrors. I wish to know the truth of the matter."

"That you will, Colonel," the general nodded, his expression suddenly turning grim. "You can count on it. As a matter of fact, we will be starting the briefing once the High Legislator joins us in few minutes. You and Major Edbrooke might as well find your seats."

With a salute, Heinemann and Edbrooke left general to confer with another attendee and found themselves seats close to the floor. In what short time he had, the colonel looked around the hall to note his fellow guest.

As he had expected, all three other colonels of the Ulyssene regiments were present along with their majors, sitting right in front of the officers from the PDF. He could see a gaggle of adepts from the Administratum, as well as the grey-uniformed officers from the Departmento Munitorum. To the left sat the beatific entourage of Bishop Unterrio, the top-ranking ecclesiarch of Ulysses Prime. Further up the chamber, he even managed to see a cadre of Mechanicus tech-priests, looking rather out of place in a room full of unaugmented humans. It seemed that the situation was serious enough to coax them down from Kaminus after all.

A booming voice directed Heinemann's attention to Colonel Vartol Uswalt, the colorful commander of Ulysses Prime's only Armored Regiment. A smile rustling his magnificent handlebar mustache, the portly tanker returned Heinemann's gaze with a polite tip of his cap. Heinemann smiled, suddenly feeling relieved that the leader of one of Ulysses Prime's most formidable assets was among them.

Aside from the military men and the priests, several astropaths from the planetary communication temples also made their appearances, their milky eyes blinking while their gnarled fingers grasped at ornate staves topped with the symbol of the Aquila.

Some faces he found he had not expected. Leaning against the wall, looking rather bored and restless, was the lithe form of Captain Myranda Cross of the Arkanis Viper Legion, an elite company of stormtroopers who doubled as the Lord General's personal guard. A striking woman in her thirties with her long wavy black hair tied in a ponytail, Cross somehow looked diminished without her carapace armor and hellgun rig. Meeting his gaze, Captain Cross nodded once before looking away. Frosty and quiet, Heineman thought, just like back in the academy days. Still, he knew Cross to be absolutely fierce fighter in the field who exuded fury like a dragon breathing fire. They had even engaged in a brief but torrid affair few years ago that they both ended up regretting.

Another group of men and women in deep blue uniforms and caps were also present, whom Heinemann failed to recognize until he caught glimpse of their gleaming pins shaped like a complex series of circles and pinwheels. In his haste, he had briefly forgotten about the naval assets of the Lazarus Sector. These men, then, were the captains and admirals of what scant starships of the Imperial Navy that guarded the Lazarus Sector and its trading routes.

Finally, Heinemann shivered as he spied a tall man standing behind the Lord General like a stern overseer. Clad in red-rimmed black leather trench coat and a peaked cap emblazoned with a winged skull sigil, his face sported a long scar that appeared to have been inflicted by a sharp claw. His hard eyes roamed across the hall, perhaps silently judging and assessing each soul present. The cold gaze rested on him for a brief moment, and Heinemann almost sagged in relief when he finally looked away. Without any extensive off-world deployments, the Ulyssene Regiments had no need for Commissars thus far. Apparently, that tradition was about to be scrapped for good.

In short, representatives from virtually every single important Imperial institution on Ulysses Prime were gathered for the council.

"Quite a party we've found ourselves in, huh, Karel?" Edbrooke whispered.

"The High Legislator's been thorough in her invitations, at least," Heinemann nodded.

The doors of the strategium opened again, and the officers and the envoys fell into silence. Trailing behind a train of government adepts, clerks, planetary noblemen, and the key merchant-industrialists of Ulysses, the High Legislator strode regally into the hall. A pair of palace guards with vibro-pikes flanked their mistress, wary of any danger.

High Legislator Lady Valeya de Costa, the seventh planetary governor of Ulysses Prime and the de facto sector governor, was young for her office. Having taken office after having been elected from her peer of distinguished nobles, she had been governing the planet for the past seven years. Already, she had gained reputation for her insistence on overseeing every detail of the government functions, costing more than one adept his job for subpar performance. Her conservative government policies did not agree with Heinemann, who believed a more liberal policies on economy could propel the world to greater heights. Still, she had single-mindedly driven forward her agendas ever since her inauguration, enacting laws and projects that had seen the capital and its satellite cities expand slowly but surely. Her ratification of a new hydroelectric dam that provided power to the entire eastern provinces was already being hailed as her political milestone. All this, she had done so at the age of sixty-five, a remarkable feat considering the prolonged tenure of an average planetary governor.

Despite the great age gap, careful juvenat treatments rendered Lady de Costa appearing not much older than Heinemann himself. Her honey gold hair wound into a tight bun, the High Legislator cut a reserved and strict figure in a somber grey robe, like a matronly headmistress of a scholam. An elegant pair of eyeglasses sat on her dainty nose, and her posture was straight and dignified. The signet ring of belonging to the Office of the High Legislator sat on one of her fingers.

"Ladies and gentlemen," de Costa said crisply. "You may take your seats. This council shall come to an order."

With a flurry, the dignitaries on the audience seated themselves accordingly. The military personnel took the first rows to themselves, while the more civilian functionaries were relegated to the middle tiers. Planetary nobles, scribes, and other comparatively unimportant figures were relegated to the back, almost hidden by the poor lighting.

De Costa walked across to the floor and stood next to the holo-projector, along with Lord General Rosenthal and his command staff. The tactician whom Heinemann had seen earlier conferring with Rosenthal stood by her side as well, his hands clutching a large data-slate. After leaning into the general and exchanging some whispered words, the High Legislator turned to face the gathered audience. A hundred pairs of eyes followed her every move.

"My fellow politicians, brave soldiers, valued adepts of the Mechanicum, Ministorum, and the Administratum," De Costa began. "I would like to thank you for attending this urgent session tonight. I myself and my government staff express our sincerest gratitude."

The governor's voice was clear and strident, losing none of its polished quality from her televised debates and speeches. She was holding herself together pretty well, Heinemann thought.

"I would have wished to have held this meeting as a cause for celebration, or even a mundane announcement. But alas, I cannot say so," the High Legislator continued. "I have come to speak on a matter that concerns not just all of us here, but every single loyal servant of the Emperor in this sector."

"I am sure many of you are already aware of what I am about to say. The fact does not make the truth any more palatable," de Costa paused. Her upper lip trembled, and for a brief second, Heinemann saw her mask of composure slip for the first time.

Here it comes, Heinemann thought. With a slight squeeze of his hands, the colonel braced himself.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the rumors are true. Lazarus Sector is under siege. The Archenemy has invaded the Emperor's holy realm, and its insidious influence is threatening to overturn everything we have built so far. We….are at war."

The council hall broke out in horrified gasps, panicked mutterings, and general invocation of the Emperor's name, though Heinemann saw that none of the military personnel seemed surprised, despite the deathly pallor that had settled on their faces. It seemed that the colonels had come to make the same conclusions as his own.

"I am a politician, the representative of the Emperor in times of peace. In matters of preparing for war, I shall give floor to Lord General Rosenthal and his staff to brief you of the specifics."

With a nod towards Rosenthal, De Costa politely stepped to the side to make room for the Lord General. A gesture sent the holo-projector whirring, and a ghostly three-dimensional image of the entirety of Lazarus Sector slowly coalesced in the air above. Highlighted orbs representing each of the constituent world slowly orbited around the softly glowing celestial bodies.

"Three weeks ago," Rosenthal began, his voice clear and somber. "A vast Archenemy fleet numbering over three hundred ships swept into the northern fringe of the sector, striking from the unexplored depths of the Stygian Marches."

The hologram accordingly zoomed out briefly before shifting entirely to focus on the northern half of the star map. From the upper boundaries of the image, an ominously crimson arrow slowly swept downwards to indicate enemy movement. At least a dozen worlds lay before their advance.

"Dipping below the galactic plane to avoid early detection before rising up, the armada first struck the Desert World of Ashkelon, catching the garrison by complete surprise. The planet fell within a matter of hours, its population utterly decimated."

The holographic orb designated as Ashkelon turned crimson as the inexorable advance of the arrow reached it.

"With the bridgehead secure, the Archenemy fleet then systemically splintered to strike at multiple targets, making any sort of coordination impossible," the general continued. "Hebron. Naphtali VII. Limassol. Orellia Nova. Arusha's Rest. And more worlds…. Despite resistance, all were overrun within days, such was the ferocity and speed of the assault."

More orbs turned crimson one by one as the general spoke.

"Even as I speak, the archenemy host is besieging the ice-world of Romero Iphigenia, the gateway to the inner worlds of the Lazraus Sector. Effectively one-third of our worlds are now within the hands of our enemy. The casualties, civilian and military, are in its millions. I can't even begin to imagine the atrocities they have suffered before their demise."

The fearful murmurings in the council chamber had only grown louder as the sheer extent of the enemy's gains had been made clear.

"Romero Iphigenia," Edbrooke whispered, his eyes wide. "Those bastards have gotten far! That almost puts Ulysses Prime within striking distance!"

"If I may, general," Heinemann called out, instantly feeling all eyes fall on him. "Why haven't we been informed about this situation earlier? It's clear that the Chaos forces have been rampaging across the sector for more than a week now. Why did we have to wait this long to be apprised?"

Before Rosenthal opened his mouth to reply, Lady de Costa stepped forth.

"I believe I can answer that question, Colonel Heinemann," the High Legislator said softly. "What you ask is a perfectly valid question, and I am sure many of you also have been dwelling on the same issue." Heinemann was slightly surprised that de Costa knew who he was. It did seem that she was aware of every minute detail of her planet.

"Let me start of by saying that we have absolutely no intention of misleading or withholding any vital information from our military personnel. I, of all people, understand the grave peril we are in, and it is my duty as governor to bring up the military to speed. If it were possible, we would have held this meeting much earlier."

"However, several factors have caused the delay that we could ill afford. First, as mentioned, the advance of the archenemy had been alarmingly swift, affording very little time for the planetary astropaths from the northern regions to send out any distress signals. In fact, we had just received our first signal a week ago, frantically relayed from Limassol. Even then, it always takes time to fully decipher the meaning of an astropathic message. The warp is not a consistent phenomenon, making clear interpretations difficult and prolonged. It had taken several extra days to coax out the truth, and few more after than that to formulate an initial assessment and response on the governmental level. It had been unfortunate but inevitable delays, I'm afraid."

Heinemann slowly nodded. "I apologize, High Legislator. I had not meant to question your conduct in these troubled time."

"Do not apologize, colonel," de Costa replied. "No matter what the circumstances may be, we need to be meticulous in all we do."

"Regardless, let me assure you, ladies and gentlemen, that we had not been idle during those times," the High Legislator continued, raising her voice to reach her entire audience. "As soon as the baseline meaning of the signal was made clear, I had immediately sent out an emergency alarm to every single planetary governor of the inner worlds. I had also enacted the wartime protocol for all industrial assets on Ulysses Prime. As of now, our industrial output has been optimized for wartime production of weapons, munitions, and vehicles."

"Most importantly, using my remit as the sector governor, I had sent out an urgent call for aid to the Segmentum Command in Hydraphur. Emperor willing, the Imperium as a whole will respond and send reinforcements to aid our cause in due time."

A sudden relief flooded the council chamber. Several officials gave thanks to the Emperor, while wary smiles of relief were exchanged like currency.

"Do not mistake these protocols for immediate salvation, my fellow Ulyssene," de Costa continued, her gravitas unchanged. "Even though our signal had been sent, there is no guarantee that the Segmentum Command will respond immediately. The message could be delayed, rerouted, or possibly lost in the warp. Even if it reached Hydraphur, it will take considerable time to marshal an appropriate reinforcements to aid us. By then, it could be too late. The Archenemy could have overwhelmed us all by then."

"What we must do for now, therefore, is to muster every resource we have to hold out against the enemy until the Imperium reaches us. While the resources we have in the Lazarus Sector may not be significant, I believe that the Lord General has drawn up a plan that may maximize our chances. With that said, General Rosenthal, if you will?"

"Right then," the Lord General resumed. "As previously mentioned, Romero Iphigenia currently endures a brutal siege by the archenemy host. Despite all efforts, it is the tactical cadre's unanimous opinion that the planet will eventually fall. It is only due to the inhospitable nature of the planet's environment that its defenders have managed to stand thus far. Though it weighs heavily in my heart….we must count Romero Iphigenia as lost. The current forces we have at our disposal should be deployed where they can make the most difference."

Several of the officers looked sick, obviously repulsed by the cruel but necessary measure of abandoning the imperial garrison to their doom. Already, lives were being regarded as expendable resources, meaningless numbers on the chart.

"The Emperor will gather the souls of those brave men and women into his comforting embrace," Bishop Unterrio croaked in his wizened voice. "We shall hold a service fortnight to commemorate those whose lives had been lost."

"One thing puzzles me, General," asked Treneth Viberson, colonel of the 4th. "According to the map, it seems to me that the entire enemy army is gathered on Romero Iphigenia. Why is that? Why do they not divide their forces and strike further into the inner worlds, as they had done so before? Surely it would take only a fraction of their numbers to carry out the siege."

"Excellent observation, Viberson," Rosenthal nodded. "Which brings me to my next point—the reason why the enemy is currently slowing down their advances and why we cannot afford to send any reinforcements to Romero Iphigenia."

With a gesture, the holographic map shifted further down until it fixed upon the boundary that separated the northern regions and the inner worlds.

"As you all know, the division in our sector between the inner worlds and the outer regions is not arbitrary. In short, the reason why the division exists is this."

The map began zooming in, until it revealed what appeared to be a lengthy and hazy stretch of cosmological nebulae and debris running across an entire region of space. Romero Iphigenia sat to the north of the celestial phenomenon, while the inner worlds were positioned below it.

"The Lazarian Girdle," Rosenthal announced. "A stretch of massive asteroid belt dividing the sector in two. What is more, the local warp space is somehow less stable there, making space travel across slow and difficult at best. What few stable corridors that are known to us are narrow and not always easy to pinpoint. For centuries, that phenomenon had been the primary reason why the inner worlds developed at a faster rate than those of the outer worlds."

"Therefore, while the Lazarian Girdle prevents us from quickly reinforcing Romero Iphigenia, it also confers us several advantages as well. Much like us, the enemy cannot afford to rush their passage across the asteroid belt and the unstable warp corridors. Especially for an armada of that magnitude, the only viable way to thrust into the inner worlds without great losses is to do so in small groups. In this case, ladies and gentlemen, the Lazarian Girdle is our proverbial wall of the citadel."

"Ah, I see," Heinemann said. "As a whole, we cannot possibly defeat the archenemy host. But if we can force the enemy to send their forces at us piecemeal…."

"Correct, colonel. Divide and conquer. One of the oldest military maxims in Imperial history," Rosenthal said. "As detachments of the enemy trickles into the inner worlds, we shall force them into a bottleneck and annihilate them one by one. If we fortify the local space around the warp exit points, the enemy will have no choice to run a punishing gauntlet."

"That by no means will ensure that the Archenemy wouldn't sink their claws into one of our worlds. Their overwhelming numbers will see to it. And that's where we come in, ladies and gentlemen of the Imperial Guard. Direct your attention over here, if you will—"

The general's gloved finger pointed at the hovering image of a planet located nearest to the Lazarian Girdle.

"This world here is Ozymandias, a civilized world used as the staging point for merchant vessels traversing across the Girdle. Though there are three other planets that are located near the exit points, our tacticians have concluded that, based on the stability and viability of the routes, the enemy will choose to strike here before all others. No matter what happens, Ozymandias must not fall. Other frontier planets will be garrisoned of course, but if the Archenemy takes this world, it will allow them to ferry more transports unmolested. And let us not forget, that Ulysses Prime is only a few warp jumps away from Ozymandias. Losing the planet will allow the enemy a free run at the sector capital."

"Therefore, it is my executive opinion that our first wave of reinforcements must be routed to Ozymandias," Rosenthal concluded. "The outcome of the battle there will surely decide the fate of the inner worlds."

Heavy silence fell upon the council chamber, trepidation and hope reigning in equal measure. Despite the Lord General's thorough preparation, everyone knew that difficult battles were to be had in the near future.

"I cannot overstate the gravity of the situation enough," Rosenthal said solemnly, as if sensing the tension in the room. "For centuries, the Lazarus Sector had mostly known peace. A blessing and curse in equal measure, for it had made us unprepared for an invasion such as this. Despite the brave men and women serving in our regiments, we possess no strong martial tradition. There are no hive worlds to provide us with endless supply of veteran soldiers, nor forge worlds to lend us mighty Titans or heaviest war machines. The defense of this sector falls squarely on the shoulders of ordinary citizens who have no experience of war. It goes without saying that we must scrape every single resource across the sector if we are to survive this."

"Ordinary citizens, they may be," the scarred commissar, who up until this point had remained silent, stepped up. "But we are the citizens of Imperium, the people of the Emperor most holy! Weak or strong, old or young, everyone shall do his duty. It's time the Lazarus Sector paid back to the Imperium for the peace it had enjoyed," the commissar growled, his eyes burning with righteous anger. "We of the Commissariat shall make sure of it!"

"Ay, with the blessing of the Emperor, even the weakest mortals shall become His great champion!" Bishop Unterrio crowed, his frail body trembling with zeal. "With His golden light shining on us, we shall know victory!"

Several officers and envoys cheered, clapping enthusiastically to the strident words.

"Lord Commissar Coszhev and His Highness the Bishop are correct, of course," Rosenthal answered smoothly. "I had merely thought to make honest assessments of our strengths. Preparation and foresight are key ingredients in victory."

"Speaking of strengths," one of the naval officers said. "Do we have any viable intelligence regarding the size of the archenemy forces? Three hundred ships could potentially contain numbers anywhere from ten thousands to many millions."

Rosenthal glanced over at the Planetary Tactician standing next to him. Coughing politely, the officer briefly consulted his data slate.

"Conservative estimates place the enemy forces around thirty million," he read.

Thirty million! Heinemann sat stunned. Arkanis City itself only boasted a population of nine million. To face an enemy force that outnumbered the population of an entire metropolis was staggering. Major Edbrooke was staring dumbly, his mouth slightly hanging open in surprise. The number had had a similar impact on others. Officers turned even paler, some cursing profusely while others urgently consulted their majors. Few rows back, one of the adepts of the Administratum had fainted and was being carried out of the hall by the attending servants. Even the stoic tech-priests of the Mechanicum were engaged in a hushed discussion amongst themselves, while one of them typed away at what appeared to be a portable calculator.

"Are there any information regarding the composition of their forces?"

Myranda Cross sat cross-legged not too far away, her body leaning forward in an effort to take in every single detail. In contrast to her earlier boredom, the captain now looked almost eager, like a war-hound straining at a leash.

"We are not certain, captain, but what reports that have filtered back to us suggests that the warhost is composed of several different groups," the tactician replied. "Some are elements typical of any chaos forces: mutants, traitor guard, and void pirate scum. But the vast majority are reported to be disparate cultist factions that had organized themselves into ad-hoc armies."

"What is more," the officer added. "There have been consistent accounts of terrible giants among them, clad in twisted power armor and chanting blasphemous hymn dedicated to the foul gods of Chaos."

A horrible sensation gathered in Heinemann's stomach. There could be only one group of warp-worshippers who matched that very description.

"Word Bearers," an impossibly deep voice rumbled across the council chamber like a roll of thunder. "Despicable traitors of the ancient days. The most zealous servants of Chaos…"

Heinemann jumped, as did dozens of others.

A vast shape detached itself from the shadows along the far wall, its limbs too broad for a normal man. Without a single sound, the newcomer stepped into the light, revealing a giant clad in a black power armor with its massive pauldrons edged in crimson. A non-reflective metal Aquila stretched across his massive chest, and a combat dagger length of a man's arm was strapped to his thigh. A sigil of a crimson winged dragon stretching its wings adorned one of its pauldrons. The giant went without a helmet, revealing a noble face with his long dark hair draping down about it. Two service studs adorned his brow above the eyes.

"Fear them not, though…." the Space Marine intoned. "We are not without weapons of our own."

It took a lot to surprise Heinemann. But the colonel now found his mouth hanging open in awe. Never in his entire life had he expected to lay his eyes on a battle-brother of the legendary Adeptus Astartes. His size and presence alone were enough to rob him of any coherent thought or speech. What stupefied him even more so, was the fact that not any one in the council chamber had spotted the space marine despite his size.

Heinemann then saw the complete lack of surprise on the faces of the High Legislator and the Lord General, and realized that the pair had known about the space marine all along.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Lady de Costa announced with a smile, clearly enjoying the stupefied reaction of the audience. "May I present Captain Hadrianus of the Crimson Wyverns 4th Company."

* * *

><p>Like a mythical beast rising from the ocean depths, the space marine strode across the floor. For all his bulk, the Captain Hadrianus moved as if he weighed nothing, flowing from shadow to shadow like a ghost. Ignoring all the gaping eyes on him, he stooped forward to consult the chart more closely.<p>

"Word Bearers are clever bastards, and know well how to wage war," Hadrianus rumbled. "They have had centuries for which to hone their vile art, and the atrocities they have committed against the Imperium are beyond counting." The space marine turned, his eyes locking onto the audience like a pair of targeters. "Their overtures must be checked at every turn."

"Nevertheless, the Word Bearers are fanatic zealots, and like any zealots, they aspire to be seen out in the open. They often lead the mortal armies with their blasphemous sermons and work them up to an unstoppable mania. As mentioned, the chaos army is comprised of several cultist factions. Normally, various chaos factions are fractious and do not unite easily. But if the Word Bearers are with them, it explains the concerted assault they had been coordinating so far."

"So do you believe we can break the union if we somehow eliminate the Word Bearers?" Heinemann ventured cautiously.

Hadrianus looked at him, a faint smile playing at his lips. "It would be rather difficult," he replied at length, "But theoretically, yes. Removing them from the field would go a long way in crippling the command structure of the enemy. Fortunately, that is exactly what my brothers and I are here to do."

"Captain Hadrianus and his company had been returning to their Chapter Fleet after a successful campaign in the Malocchian Sector," Rosenthal said helpfully. "Most fortunately for us, his ship had picked up the general distress call the High Legislator had sent out to Hydraphur."

"Eighty nine battle-brothers of the 4th Company shall stand with you against the Archenemy," Hadrianus said.

"Eighty nine?" Edbrooke leaned over and whispered to Heinemann. "Isn't that…a bit too few?"

"Only in a conventional sense, major," Hadrianus replied without skipping a bit, badly startling Edbrooke. "But space marines are not conventional forces. Each of us can slay thousands of the enemy, and put even more to flight. Counting in our armor assets and air support, we are force multipliers not to be trifled with."

"I, uh, didn't—," Edbrooke stammered, his face turning red, "I mean, I meant no offense, Captain."

The space marine merely shrugged before redirecting his gaze back towards the holographic map.

"He heard me!" Edbrooke whispered to Heinemann in amazement.

"Of course he can hear you, you numb-skull," Heinemann hissed back. "They're the Emperor's angels of death. Nothing escapes their notice. You're lucky he decided you were worth more alive than dead."

"As I was saying," Captain Hadrianus continued. "The fourth company's combat assets will boost the morale and fighting strength of the defenders. Nevertheless, the major is partially correct. We are few in number compared to the millions of heretics arrayed against us. Therefore, the Imperial Guard regiments in this sector have no choice but to bear the bulk of the fighting. Lord General Rosenthal, I trust that you been keeping track of all the military forces we have in our immediate disposal?"

"Of course, Captain," the Lord General smiled. "As a matter of fact, the comprehensive assessment of the military assets is our next topic of discussion. Now that our destination and preliminary battle plan have been made clear, it's time we get to know more about the brave men and women about to be dispatched to our front. I am privy to the disposition of the Guard units on this planet, but not so regarding the standings of other branches of the Imperial forces. But I believe our fellow representatives from the Munitorum, Mechanicum, and Admiral Wyland from the Navy can enlighten us in those matters."

From the crowd, three separate groups nodded sagely.

"With that said, Chief Tactical Officer Nebbins, would you present us with the latest statistics from the Imperial Guard high command?" Rosenthal nodded to the tactician, who promptly cleared his throat.

"On Ulysses Prime itself, we currently have four active regiments of Ulyssene Tactical Infantry—1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th—in the total strength of about twenty-four thousand men," Nebbins announced. "In addition, there are sixteen hundred men from the Ulyssene 1st Armored, along with some four hundred tanks, armored carriers, and artillery of varying types,"

"And let's not forget the two hundred stormtroopers from the Arkanis Viper Legion," Rosenthal added, giving a polite nod to Captain Cross.

"Add in the support personnel from the logistics division," Nebbins continued. "And we have just over thirty thousand men ready to be deployed at a notice from this world. Scant numbers against the horde arrayed against us, to be sure, but with training and discipline on our side, we of the Tactician's Cadre estimate that each one of our soldiers is worth at least ten of the cultists making up their sizeable but disorganized horde."

The last remark was met by energetic claps and whistles from the Guard officers. A gray-uniformed officer from the Munitorum stood up as soon as the commotion died down.

"Thanks to the High Legislator's timely warning, the Departmento Munitorum has been made aware of the dire situation early on," the Munitorum representative said. "Even as I speak, the representative branches of the Munitorum throughout Lazarus Sector are raising and processing newly found guard regiments from virtually every planet that possesses sufficient population. I believe that some of those reinforcements are already in route to Ulysses Prime. Small or large, rich or poor, every single realm of the Emperor shall contribute to the sector's defense in one way or another. We of the Munitorum will leave no rock unturned."

"On Ulysses Prime itself, we expect that more than forty new regiments can be founded without seriously disrupting its governing, made easier by the preexisting recruiting pool in the form of the Ulyssene PDF. If the defenses at Ozymandias can hold out sufficiently, those new regiments may have time to become field-worthy and help shore up the front-line defenses. We are also requisitioning every freighter and transport ships to ferry those men and their supplies to the frontline. In all, we predict that about a million more men can be mustered in a few months across this sector."

Heinemann allowed himself a small smile. The additional regiments would still be hard-pressed to repel the encroaching enemy, but an addition of a million men would still be a significant contribution to the scant standing regiments. Numbers would at least do much to compensate for their own lack of combat experience.

One of the tech-priests of the Mechanicum had the floor next, his red robe bulging and rustling with hidden bionics underneath as he rose from his seat. No less than a half a dozen lenses gleamed underneath his cowl, studded into a smooth metal mask with a vox grille for a mouthpiece. His mechadendrites swayed about him like fronds of a jungle plant. When he spoke, his synthesized voice was laced with electronic whistles and bleeps.

"The Mechanicum shall stand with you as well," the magos intoned. "Though the probability for victory lies at a mere nine-point eight-five-four percent, the assets of the Omnissiah in this sector must be denied to the enemy at all costs. The forges of Kaminus are already manufacturing arms and munitions at peak efficiency, as are vehicles and small ships needed to carry them. We predict no shortage in supplies and arms in the foreseeable future, and the first shipment of supplies will be distributed to the Imperial Guard starting in two days. I am told that some of the guard regiments being raised are yet to be equipped with weapons. Kaminus shall bless them with the appropriate products of its craft, to bring its nails and fangs to gnash and tear at the enemy."

The audience gave a scattered but polite applause as the tech-priest finished his report, some officers looking somewhat baffled by the magos' unexpected use of poetic speech. The final representative, a naval officer with the admiral's insignia and medal pinned to his chest, did not seem as confident as his two counterparts.

"I'm afraid that the Imperial Navy cannot deliver any news as heartening as those from the Munitorum and the Mechanicum," Admiral Wyland said ruefully. "The fact of the matter is, the naval contingent in this sector is made up of ships that are either close to retirement or rendered obsolete by newer models. Nothing boasting major firepower, either. Of the close to thirty warp-capable warships we possess, the biggest tonnage belongs to an Exorcist-Class grand cruiser. It doesn't help that the said ship had been rusting in the dry docks for two centuries before we refitted it. The rest are composed of a handful of frigates, some destroyers, corvettes, and old freighters retrofitted as escort carriers. They may be enough to stop pirate incursions, but in a straight-out void war we would be badly outgunned."

"You may also count in the firepower of our strike cruiser, _The Pride of Aeolus_," Captain Hadrianus said. "A support from a well-armed Adeptus Astartes vessel may rebalance the odds, not to mention the Thunderhawk and Stormtalon gunships on board."

Admiral Wyland gave a nod of gratitude towards the space marine.

"Such a show of support will be much appreciated."

"What of small crafts?" Rosenthal inquired.

"Furies and Starhawks for void engagements, and Thunderbolts, Lightnings, and Marauders for atmospheric operations, sir," Wyland shrugged. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Factories on Kaminus and elsewhere in the sector have been able to supply enough number of them, so should our ground forces require close air support, we shall be able to provide it. We also believe that a large contingent of Valkyries and Vultures are stationed on planet."

"Overall, it is not an insignificant force we have at the moment, ladies and gentlemen," Rosenthal said. "Furthermore, the Ulyssene Tactical Infantry regiments are technically the most capable indigenous fighting force in the Lazarus Sector, despite our scant combat records. If we can pull ourselves together into a solid cornerstone of the defense, it will allow other inexperienced regiments to rally around us. Lazarus Sector also contains many worlds whose environments differ greatly from ours. It goes without saying that many of the newly founded regiments will possess different combat doctrines that will complement our own."

"And there you have it, High Legislator," the Lord General concluded. "These are the military assets and plans at your disposal. We only await your approval as the representative of the Imperial authority on this world."

"Very good, Lord General," Lady de Costa replied. "I have heard the extent of your battle plans, and I approve of them. I trust that you will be speaking to your officers to elaborate on the more specific details in the coming days. You and your men have my fullest confidence on this matter."

Rosenthal nodded in gratitude.

"With the military aspect of our campaign discussed, we now turn to a more mundane but no less important issue of civilian management," the High Legislator announced. "While our brave soldiers fight for our survival on the front, we must make sure to supply them continuously as well as managing our current resources to that end. With the assistance of our adepts from the Administratum, I have formulated a comprehensive plan of rationing and redistribution of governmental budget, to be implemented immediately by my authority as governor. I regret to inform our brethren from the commercial circles that this will also involve increased taxation on all commercial activities on and off-planet. The funding for military supplies is no small issue, and we will need to requisition what we have."

A collective cry of dismay rang from the rearmost seats, as the nobles and merchants realized the implication of the High Legislator's measure on their income. Further words of outrage broke out when an adept of the Administratum handed out data slates detailing the statistics. Not a few individuals began clamoring for the rights to speak out against the measure.

"I suppose some members of this council have something to say on my decision," de Costa said archly. A hard look in her eyes told plainly that she was not in a mood to entertain any objections. "I must apologize for not breaking this news sooner. But that would have meant hours of more debate in the senate, which would have delayed this urgent session even further. Still, to maintain our precedence of democratic discussions, I shall allow anyone objecting to this measure a chance to speak now."

Heinemann groaned inwardly as the first nobleman stood up and launched into an overblown speech. It looked like his stay here was going to be prolonged even further.

* * *

><p>Heinemann's chron told him it was long past midnight when the last representative in the council chamber lent his opinion on the emergency. Every noble and merchant-prince had demanded their say, which the more democratic tradition of Ulyssess Prime had no choice but to indulge. Plenty of complaints and denunciations had been made against the rationings, requisitions, and imposed taxations. Some even advocated evacuating more important personnel into the neighboring sectors altogether. The hard, cold prospect of a war afoot, however, rendered those remarks moot. That, and the fact that every single military officer in the room looked ready to draw their arms whenever a civilian dared to label the High Legislator's measures as being too excessive. In the end, the merchants and nobles had been forced to come to terms. For all their commercial interests, no one wanted to be labeled as a traitor to the Imperium. As if sensing their precarious positions, a few wealthier nobles pledged financial donations or contribution of their estate personnel to the greater war effort. Lady de Costa accepted all offers with good grace, though Heinemann knew just how exasperated she would have been to be handling such petty details. She did look somewhat relieved when all matters had been settled with relative amicability.<p>

"We predict that Romero Iphigenia can at best last no more a month from here onward," de Costa said. "We must set our forces to Ozymandias beforehand and fortify the planet before the Archenemy moves on. As such, all regiments on this planet shall have a week in which to refit and arm before embarking on the transports to make the journey. In that time, I believe that the first wave of reinforcements from other parts of the sector shall be joining our convoy, ready to stand with us when the first wave of the enemy reaches us. Make no mistake, gentleman, for the fate of Lazarus Sector is hanging by a thread. These worlds are not only our homes, but sacred domains of the Emperor. Falter here, and everything we hold dear—our families, homes, and our faith—shall be forevermore extinguished into nothingness."

"It is late, and I am certain that each of you now know what is expected of you, and what you must do in the given time. I hereby conclude the proceedings of this council, and may the Emperor look favorably on us all."

"May He watch over us all," the gathered men and women intoned gravely, knowing well the importance of the responsibilities placed upon them.

* * *

><p><strong>If anyone wishes to contribute to this story with a regiment and a planet of his own, please contact me via PM. Should you want to create contingentscharacters from other branches of the Imperium (Adeptus Mechanicus, Inquisition, Space Marines, etc.), state so on your message. After all, Lazarus Sector is in short supply of defenders at the moment...**


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